The First Hurrah
by OmniHelix
Summary: Rachel Berry finds that votes can be even more seductive than applause.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the characters. **

On the Monday after the Tunisians held free elections for the first time, Rachel Berry sat in the bleachers, watching Finn's football drills. She had enjoyed watching team practices her whole high school career, starting well before she even knew who Finn was. There was something satisfying about the way the players constantly honed their skills, practicing moves over and over, forcing their often exhausted and unwilling bodies to conform until, at the games, everything looked effortless and graceful. She could relate to that—most people had no idea how much work it took to prepare for a performance. Now that she had the role of Maria, Rachel's muscles ached from the extra dance practice she was putting in, and she was stretching her voice as far as she could without damaging it to make sure her performances would be perfect. Mercedes could say all she wanted about not having to practice, but unless she was some kind of ridiculously rare mutant like Mozart, she'd find out soon enough that without practice—constant, relentless practice-success would be beyond her grasp. This afternoon, though, Rachel wasn't thinking about that, or even Finn. She was thinking about politics.

It was obvious from the start: nobody was taking her candidacy for Class President seriously. Everyone saw it as just a shallow way to pad her _curriculum __vitae_ for NYADA. Even Finn assumed she would drop out of the race, now that she had the lead in the play. True, she had panicked when she thought Mercedes had won the audition, and joined the race out of desperation. But an intense, revelatory conversation that night with her dads changed everything.

"Maybe this was a mistake," Rachel lamented at the dinner table after telling them what she had done, feeling faintly ridiculous. She looked down. "Nobody even knows me". Her dads sat silently for a moment, processing what their daughter had just told them. They exchanged a glance, then turned to her. Her dad spoke first.

"So what if nobody knows you, " Leroy Berry snorted, "That's what a _campaign_ is for!" Her daddy nodded in agreement. Rachel was shocked.

"So you think I _should _run? "

Hiram Berry removed and polished his glasses. "That depends, Rachel," he said, looking her straight in the eye, "on how serious you are. What do you stand for?"

"You mean, what issue do I plan to run on?"

"Do you plan running on just one issue?"

Rachel looked down. "I'm not sure," she said. "That's another reason why I think this may have been a mistake."

"Surely there are some things about McKinley you feel strongly about and want changed, baby," Leroy said. " Didn't you say you wished the Guidance staff had been more proactively helpful last year, so that you wouldn't have been blindsided by Juilliard and not even knowing about NYADA until now?"

Hiram cleared his throat. "Even though we could have done a lot better in our own research and preparation." Leroy gave him an annoyed look. "We've already beaten that horse to death."

"Just sayin'," Hiram shrugged, winking at her. God, she loved them.

Rachel shook her head slowly. "Sometimes I feel like this school is just processing us like meat. We've got some teachers that couldn't care less about us, an administration that looks the other way over bullying and harassment, graduating kids that can barely read or write. How are we supposed to function as adults if we aren't being prepared properly?"

She stopped her musings when she realized her dads were both gazing at her. "It sounds to us like you've got a whole platform of issues right there, Rachel, tied together by a single theme." Leroy said.

"Right," continued Hiram, "This just might be the kind of thing with which a dark-horse candidate could win."

She was still uncertain. "Even if I manage to come up with a solid platform, how can I convince the student body? I'm a nobody."

"Rachel, dear" said Hiram slyly, "Think. You're not called a triple threat just for singing and dancing…" He gave her a deadpan look.

"That's right, baby," said Leroy, grinning.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Her dads were right. Art, like politics, is a form of persuasion. An artist has to persuade the audience to accept the reality of the work—whether it be a story, or song, or painting. A politician has to persuade the voters she is the right one for them. She had to treat this election just like a…performance. She _could _do this. She had done it hundreds of times before. The realization stunned her.

"I can do this," she whispered breathlessly, almost in disbelief. Her dads beamed. Hiram hugged Leroy, and looked at her affectionately.

"You know, your wanting to do this is a great relief to us. We know all the work you have put in to music has taken a toll; we know you have been lonely. And performing on a stage still keeps you at a distance from those to whom you give your art. Day-to-day politics is a whole different animal, it's all up close and personal. It will help you develop some important interpersonal skills as you go out into this world as an adult. And we couldn't be more proud of you." Leroy nodded.

Rachel smiled, but her mind had suddenly begun to whirl. Something she had heard on NPR triggered a connection…

"That being said, however," Hiram went on, "Before you go any further, we hope you make sure to examine the impact this decision may have on your personal life. Have you told Finn about it yet? Isn't his brother Kurt running as well? And what happens if you _do _get the part of Maria?"

.

Watching the players going through their drills, Rachel had to admit she hadn't handled the personal aspect well at all. Kurt felt betrayed and Finn felt himself squeezed in the middle. She cursed her habit of impetuous behavior when feeling insecure-it had only brought her trouble and heartbreak in the past. She wished she was more mature. But something nagged in the back of her mind. Hadn't she told Quinn that she was more than just her looks? Well, what if Rachel Berry was more than just her voice? Answering that question was important to her, and running for President could help do that. But first she had to start repairing at least some of the damage her damned insecurities—she sighed- had caused. And that would start now.

The players were finished with practice, and Rachel waved to Finn as he headed into the locker room with everyone else. He stopped to smile and wave back. She felt better—at least he wasn't furious with her. While he was inside she listened to an NPR podcast on her iPod about the Arab Spring, and jotted down some notes. Then she waited for Finn at the locker room door. Eventually, the players came filing out, and for the first time Rachel was fully aware that most, but not all, greeted her with a variation of "Hey Rach", or a nod, to which she responded with a shy smile and a wave. It was difficult getting used to being accepted by the players again. One, the tight end Derek Miller, actually wished her good luck in the play. "Thanks Derek!" she beamed. Mike and Puck came out together. "Hey Berry!" Puck drawled, "Finn will be a bit late—he got jawing with the center about a play. He should be out in a bit." Rachel nodded in thanks and watched them leave. She was alone again, but smiled to herself because she knew why Finn was last: he was singing in the shower, his voice floating out through the open transom. Listening to him sing when he thought he was alone-when he could be completely himself, making mistakes and starting over without embarrassment—was a guilty, secret pleasure of hers. It was amazing nobody caught on to why Finn was always the last to leave. She entertained the idea of joining him in there, giggling at her own daring.

Finn finally emerged and greeted her with a big smile and a hug, and she stood on her tiptoes for a kiss. Lord, how she had missed all this the time she was apart. "Hey sailor," she murmured in his ear, "Going my way?" Finn laughed. "Sure, baby," he said, as she took his arm to walk to the truck.

Once inside, though, she turned serious and took his hand. "Finn," she said carefully, "Before we leave, I have something to say about the election." Finn suddenly looked worried and started to speak, but she held her hand up. "No—please- let me get it out there." He assented.

"I-I know my candidacy has hurt your brother, and put you in an impossible position. But I'm not withdrawing- I think I can make a difference, regardless of its effect on my C.V." He just nodded. "Kurt asked who you were voting for, and I just wanted to say", she gave him a soft smile, "that I regret asking you what you told him. I'm not going to ask that question of you again. It's just not fair. "

Finn nodded again. "Thanks," he said.

"I'm not going to even ask you to help with my campaign." She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down. "I'm an only child. You were one for sixteen years, Finn, until you were suddenly blessed with a brother. I can't—I won't- force myself in between you and Kurt in any way." Fighting back tears, she looked over at him. "That's all."

He gazed at her thoughtfully. "I appreciate this," he said gently. Then she felt his hands cradling her face. "But I've already decided what to do".

"You have?"

"Sure." He wore a reassuring smile. "I'm taking myself out of the voting. Abstaining's the word, right?" She nodded, shocked. "And I even figured out what to do with the campaigns." He was chuckling now, reaching into the glove box, pulling out two buttons. One said "Kurt Hummel for President", the other "Rachel Berry for President". He pinned them on the chest of his letterman jacket, one on each side. "Yours goes over my heart," he said solemnly. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"I figure I can be like those guys who walk around wearing boards that advertise stuff. And I work cheap—bake me all the cookies I can eat and my space is yours. Kurt can buy me Chinese when I want. It's win-win-win, Rach."

Rachel burst out giggling in sheer relief. "There's no doubt about it", she announced, pulling him closer, "Best. Boyfriend. Ever."


	2. Chapter 2

She was ready. The other candidates had given their speeches; hers was next. It was the best position to be: her speech would be the last one they hear. She nervously smoothed her dress. It was white, floral and sleeveless, approachable. No dark suit; that was too severe, and made her look even smaller than she was already. She made sure her makeup accentuated her eyes, so that even from the back of the auditorium she didn't appear to be a faceless entity. Her bangs were swept back, hair down, softening her appearance. Nobody other than her dads had seen her speech, not even Finn.

Principal Figgins was introducing her now, so she stood up, smiled down briefly at Kurt, who looked stiffly ahead, and walked to the podium, leaving her notes behind. Watching the others speak helped her realize that standing behind the podium would be a mistake—it dwarfed her. So she removed the microphone and strode to the edge of the stage in front of it. A pause to compose her thoughts. Finn in the front row looking proud and encouraging. It was time.

"Three weeks ago," Rachel began, making sure the mike worked and she could be heard, "the Tunisian people voted in their first free election, and the Libyans overthrew a brutal dictator. They are celebrating their freedom now, but the truth is, all of them face an uncertain future in a hostile world. What's worse, many of them won't have the skills to succeed in that world, because one thing dictatorships do very well is keep their people in a state of perpetual childhood, where all major, adult decisions about their future are made for them." She paused for one second before continuing. "In a very real way, you and I are in a similar situation. In a few months we will all be set loose in an uncertain, hostile world with the right to vote, presumably equipped with the proper skills to function in that world. That's what schools are for, after all. But I have to ask you," she pointed out at them, "Do you feel prepared for this? Do you honestly think this school is doing its job to prepare you for adulthood? Think about it—when all of us turn eighteen we will be expected to vote intelligently on issues involving international politics. Science. Economics. Do any of you truly feel you know enough to make informed decisions on them?" Many in the crowd were shaking their heads. She shook hers in sympathy. "I know I don't."

The students were stirring. Rachel noticed fewer bent heads over cell phones than when the other candidates had been speaking. Good. Now it was time to lay it on a little harder.

"Many of you, me included, found it harder to get jobs this summer. I was lucky—I can teach dance, but that isn't a skill I learned here at McKinley, thanks to the way funding for arts programs is prioritized around here. Imagine what it's going to be like when we have to compete with everyone else out there in the real world for fulltime jobs. Do you think an employer is going to give us a break when we can't write a proper sentence, simply because this school cut an English teacher position while the Cheerios got their dry-cleaning done in Europe? I think not."

Whispering and isolated clapping. Sue Sylvester glaring at her. Her English teacher beaming. Ok. Let's keep them riled up. She squared her shoulders and began pacing back and forth on the stage relentlessly, fueled by outrage.

"I'm tired," she said simply. "I'm tired of feeling powerless. I'm tired of an institution supposedly committed to preparing us for adulthood having its mission corrupted by misguided alumni, and starved of funding that isn't sports-related. I'm tired of an institution where the student body is _openly __allowed_ to be terrorized by privileged thugs." Rachel glared and pointed at Azimio in the 6th row. There were murmurs of "Yeah", and some applause. Then she stopped, tightly gripping the microphone, facing them. "And I'm tired of a student government whose main function, it seems, is to generate apologetic requests for changes to the cafeteria menu. "

There was cheering mixed in with applause now. Rachel looked down at Finn. He was giving her the hottest look she had ever seen. But she still had work to do. The audience was at a turning point. She could feel its energy, and it was with her now. It was time for the hard sell.

"Now, it's easy to just stand up here, rattling off a list of grievances," she continued, then giggled guiltily, "Even though it does feel kinda good! But listing the grievances and not coming up with at plan to address them is a waste of all of our time."

The auditorium was silent, Rachel realized, shocked. She hoped what she had to say next wasn't going to be anticlimactic.

"If you elect me President, the first thing I will do is task the newly-elected Student Council to begin collecting input from you. I want to know what you think you need to become productive adults out in the world, what you think the school can do to bring it about, and where the school fails in doing so. I will preside over the Student Council meetings to make sure every suggestion is evaluated for value and practicality. Those that make the cut will be presented by me to Principal Figgins. And just to make sure the whole process is completely transparent," she grinned mischievously at Figgins, who kept trying to keep up a smile," I'm going to ask Janet Mansfield, editor of the school newspaper, to print all of the suggestions, accepted or not, along with the official reasons for the rejection. " She pointed to Janet in the audience. "Hey Janet, is that ok with you? "

"Absolutely!" Janet yelled back, grinning. More cheering.

"What's more, if we feel issues have been unjustly rejected by the school administration, my parents, who are lawyers, have offered their services to help us take the issues to the school board." Lots of cheers. Figgins did not look happy.

"My administration will take back our school media from special interest cliques, and put it back to serving all of us. No more gossip." She chuckled at some scattered boos, "Well, okay. Maybe not _as __much_." Cheers again.

"We will enlist the help of bloggers and video artists among us to actively investigate areas of this school that can be improved when it comes to fulfilling its mission. And if I can persuade Jacob Ben Israel to devote more of his efforts to helping all of us instead of pushing smut and rumor, I will die a happy woman."

Even Jacob laughed at that. And now the appeal.

"Now, I know other candidates have been up here promising change." She looked back at the now uncomfortable-looking candidates. "But let's be realistic. No single individual can bring about the kind of change they promised or the change I'm proposing. Besides, who am I to decide what you need? I'm not here asking to insult your intelligence; I'm here asking you to let me be your advocate. Let me work with the Student Council to try and make your visions for this school a reality." She paused before continuing.

"I'll be honest with you. We may not be able to get everything done in one year, in time to affect you personally. We've been shortchanged, bullied, and ignored far too long: some problems have become too deeply rooted for quick solutions. But many of you have younger brothers and sisters who could benefit from a school that can actually help them, and I think the least we can do is start a precedent of effective student government so that they and everyone else can benefit from our groundwork. I'm offering myself to start the ball rolling." Applause and cheering.

"I know most of you don't know me," she said softly, looking slightly down, "Or only know of me because of who my boyfriend is." She looked down fondly at him. "I'd like to change that. If I become President, I will establish a formal process by which you can submit your input, especially if you wish it to be anonymous, but I would love it if some—hopefully most-of you could approach me in the hall, or the cafeteria, or in class, and present it to me personally. It would mean a lot to me to be able to place a face as well as a name to your ideas, as I try and help bring them about. Thank you for listening, and I appreciate your vote."

Rachel Berry had been in the spotlight before. She wasn't a stranger to the warm glow of an appreciative audience, or even a standing ovation. But this had a completely different feel to her. This loud, raucous cheering and applause wasn't just a thank-you for a performance, an acknowledgement of a job well done, an affirmation of her talent. It was a group of people with whom she had grown up, but barely knew, saying, "We believe in you."

She felt the solid, cool smoothness of the brass ring pushed into her hand as she bowed, and walked back to her seat.


End file.
